


Priorities

by yeaka



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-23
Updated: 2019-02-23
Packaged: 2019-11-04 04:48:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17891777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Meludir’s called out on his failure.





	Priorities

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own The Hobbit or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

It’s difficult to stay conscious in the royal bed for a number of reasons. First, it’s so incredibly _comfortable_ , the mattress practically a cloud and the silken sheets so soft and _warm_. More notably is the state in which Meludir usually lounges there: freshly used. He’s been claimed so many times in a row that he’s long since lost count. His legs have begun to lose all feeling, his knees pleasantly numb but his thighs still tingling. He’s slick between his legs, enough to have stained the sheets, but Thranduil lets him lie there anyway. Meludir’s currently tangled up inside a cocoon of blankets, resting on his king’s broad pillow, drifting in and out of sleep. He’s incredibly grateful that his king allows him to stay the night after copulation—mainly because that offers the possibility of another round in the morning. 

Most of the times Meludir comes to, Thranduil is around him, one long arm tossed over his waist or curled tight against his back. The bed is large, but Thranduil likes to _touch_ his toys, and he must know by now how much Meludir likes to be touched. This time when Meludir stirs, he can’t feel anyone else around him. The mattress dips only for him—there’s no sense of weight anywhere else on it. He lets his lashes flutter open to the dim candlelight of Thranduil’s bedroom. Back towards the door, he hears hushed voices.

“It is the third time in as many nights,” Tauriel murmurs, her words hushed and reverential before her king. Meludir would know her voice anywhere.

Thranduil’s deep rumble of a response almost makes him squirm. He _loves_ that voice. “And what would you have me do about this? Can you not manage your own guard?”

“I can, my lord... I simply thought I would make my report before I make any move to reprimand him...”

“Reprimand? If an archer has missed three nights of duty, he deserves far worse. Punish him properly, Tauriel. You do not require my authorization for such deserved retribution.”

Meludir’s sleep-addled vision sharpens. His eyes widen around the edges. There’s a silence that follows the statement. Meludir doesn’t sit up enough to see, but he imagines that Tauriel is bowing. Then Thranduil smoothly adds, “There is no room in my kingdom for a lazy performance. Remind this archer of yours that he is expected to serve me fully.”

“Yes, my lord,” Tauriel responds, and then Meludir hears retreating footsteps, following by the closing of the door. A few seconds later, Thranduil is at the side of the bed. He grins when he sees that his paramour’s awake, then tilts his head to the side. His golden hair spills down his broad shoulders, covered only in a thin, pale green night-robe drawn about his middle. He looks so incredibly _handsome_ that it momentarily wipes Meludir’s problem from his mind.

Then his king purrs, “You are blushing, pet. What troubles you? Do you wish for more already?”

Meludir is very tempted to say _yes_ and push the blankets down, spread his legs and beg his lord to come between them again. But he knows the situation will only grow worse if he leaves it. He thinks Tauriel might even have the authority to put him in the dungeons for a night or two, and Meludir would be utterly despondent if Thranduil summoned him and he wasn’t able to respond. He might never be called upon again after such rudeness, and he couldn’t bear that. 

While he chews his bottom lip and worries over this, Thranduil settles back down onto the bed. He slips beneath the blanket and draws open the cord of his robes. The shimmering fabric falls apart, revealing the sculpted plains of his well-toned chest. Meludir has to stifle the moan that view automatically pulls out of him. 

With tremendous effort, he forces himself to shamefully admit, “It is me, my lord.”

“Oh?” Thranduil asks, tone indulgent, though he clearly doesn’t realize what Meludir means just yet. 

Meludir rolls over to all but bury his face in the pillow, only leaving enough room to mumble out, “I am the archer that has missed his shifts. I was scheduled for the last three nights, and I had meant to do my duties... but... each time you summoned me, I...”

“I see.” Meludir risks peeking upwards. Thranduil’s face is as cool and calm as ever. His lips quirk in an amused grin when he notes, “So you were distracted by your king’s radiance. ...A valid excuse, I suppose...”

“’M sorry,” Meludir mumbles. And because he does, technically, have a shift tomorrow and shouldn’t be absolutely ruining his ability to walk beforehand, he sheepishly asks, “Should I... leave...?”

“Goodness, no.” Thranduil’s voice is so _smooth_. That single last word fills Meludir with desperate hope. Thranduil drops one hand to thread into Meludir hair, brushing back through it as he finishes, “You have a far more important duty now: _directly_ pleasing your king. ...We will simply have to make sure that your captain is aware of this possibility in the future.”

Relief blossoms inside Meludir. He grins up at Thranduil, wide and genuine. Thranduil leans down to kiss him, then purrs, “So... _would_ you like that other round...?”


End file.
